


On the other side of The Fog

by Entice



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Kinda?, M/M, Suicide, but not in the standard way?, but still SUICIDE, no mental illness, no mental struggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-07-25 13:20:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16198346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entice/pseuds/Entice
Summary: When Harry was ten his beloved rabbit – Bingo - died. The sensitive boy cried for a few long hours before deciding to bury the pet; and there was no point in Louis’ explanation that Bingo was now in a better world than a small cage in the blue room – Harry couldn’t deal with losing his beloved rabbit. After the solemn funeral, during which Bingo was buried under the forsythia in Styles’ garden, Louis and Harry sat near the grave and wondered if animals went to heaven and how did it look like. Harry created his own vision of death then, not only for animals, but also for people. When a person dies, he said, they go through the fog, fog so dim that they cannot go back, because they would get lost on the way; they have to go forward. And when they cross the white smudges, they are on the other side, in the other world. There’s no way back, because the fog is blown away, the gate is closed. There’s just a new reality.





	On the other side of The Fog

**Author's Note:**

> So, I guess I’ve been in a mood for some angst! Please, **DO NOT** read if you’re triggered by **suicide** , after all it’s the main topic in the story – it may not be the "standard" suicidal story related to mental illness and mental struggles, but still – it is a SUICIDE. Be safe out there!
> 
> For everyone who reads – I hope you like it and that maybe you can even shed a tear… 
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think!

 

 

 

 

***

 

Harry’s mug has always been red and Louis’ – blue. Two ordinary porcelain mugs, bought long time ago in a supermarket, put in a shopping basket somewhere in between bread rolls, pasta and cheese, became inseparable part of their life. They drank morning coffee out of them, took them to the studio to work on new music; from his red mug Harry sipped one coffee after another while working on a new lyrics and Louis didn’t let go of his blue one watching his boyfriend fully focused, brows furrowed, with a pen in his mouth. From those ordinary porcelain cups they drank their evening tea watching movies on a big couch in the living room. In the red mug Louis prepared various anti-flu medicines when Harry was lying sick in bed.

And they both believed those two mugs would always be their companion; that they would drink warm tea out of them while sitting on the porch, fully tucked in blankets at old age.

But that time was never to come.

*

Young brown haired man delicately holds a small oblong ampoule in his slender fingers. He stares at the light yellow liquid; only a few milliliters here and exactly as much in the identical vial lying on the kitchen counter. He stares at them with fear.

Is it the time? Is it _really_ the time?

His lips tremble. He thought about it so many times and now, when the time has come, he is afraid, _so_ afraid. The decision is desperate, but there is no other way. There is no hope.

Or maybe there still is, for him?

He is only twenty-seven, there’s so many beautiful days to come; he could enjoy his life, create more music, live happily in his huge house in the suburbs, make use of all the money they’ve earned, make all his dreams come true. But he doesn’t want to. Because without _him_ everything surrounding Louis doesn’t make any sense and another minutes, hours and days would only be a nightmare filled with memories and pain.

So many years together; as best friends, band mates and _lovers_. Together in the daylight and at night. They know perfectly each other’s bodies, thoughts and feelings. They don’t need words to communicate, perfectly guessing meaning hidden behind the gestures, they don’t have to speak up to _know_ what the other thinks and feels.

They swore that nothing would ever tear them apart. Because there was no life for Louis without Harry, and no life for Harry without Louis.

*

Louis looks out of the window at the vast garden being slowly covered with October’s evening fog. Grey, weightless smudges start floating through the grass, wrapping up the thuyas, surrounding dried out roses.

_Soon, Harry, it will be over soon._

Louis’ hand clenches on the small vial and trembles slightly.

*

When Harry was ten his beloved rabbit – Bingo - died. The sensitive boy cried for a few long hours before deciding to bury the pet; and there was no point in Louis’ explanation that Bingo was now in a better world than a small cage in the blue room – Harry couldn’t deal with losing his beloved rabbit. After the solemn funeral, during which Bingo was buried under the forsythia in Styles’ garden, Louis and Harry sat near the grave and wondered if animals went to heaven and how did it look like. Harry created his own vision of death then, not only for animals, but also for people. When a person dies, he said, they go through the fog, fog so dim that they cannot go back, because they would get lost on the way; they have to go forward. And when they cross the white smudges, they are on the other side, in the other world. There’s no way back, because the fog is blown away, the gate is closed. There’s just a new reality.

The vision created at the age of ten at the grave of poor Bingo, Harry remembered forever – that’s how he pictures death – as a passage through the fog to the other world. And there is one thing he’s always been certain of, through the fog that one day surrounds him, he will not go alone.

*

Louis opens the ampoule he holds in his hands and slowly pours what’s inside to the blue mug, already half filled with water. Nothing happens, no spectacular effect, no foam, flame or hiss. The water looks as innocent as before. He _prays_ the mixture works as peacefully as it looks.

Sweet Dream Potion, that’s how – a bit poetic – it was called by an anonymous seller who took a solid amount of money for the potion and silence. For thousands of dollars Louis bought a _deep sleep_ for his boyfriend and himself, for the final moment when there’s no hope left. He acts automatically - like a chemist in a laboratory, careful not to spill any of it, he pours the liquid from the second vial to Harry’s red mug. He doesn’t cry; there’s no tears left anymore. He has to be strong now.

Through the past one and a half year he went through the all possible stages: fear, disbelief, anger, despair and finally - acceptance. He knows he can’t hesitate now, he can’t question his decision because if he does he will be looking into Harry’s fading eyes, watching his every pointless breath and days filled with agony. It’s better to stop it all now, to fall into _Sweet Dream_.

*

Was that a punishment for their unaccepted love? He asked himself that question more than once. Was the sickness an atonement?

But if so, why did it affect Harry? It was his, Louis’, fault. He was the first one to look at Harry _this_ way. It was Louis who kissed him during one stormy night when Harry didn’t want to be alone in his hotel room. It was Louis who started _everything_. The world found out and their lives were destroyed. That was when Louis ran away like a coward - from the whole world, but also from Harry. But the younger boy didn’t give up. Since that October night when Harry – wet and cold – stood at the door of Louis’ summerhouse, five years have passed. And that was when Louis understood that there’s no escape from those deep green eyes.

*

Together since they were kids. Where there was Louis, there was Harry. They supported each other and together went through, not always easy, life.

And when the fate decided to put them through the toughest trail, when Harry got sick, Louis was there for him. He was there even when Harry couldn’t recognize him and didn’t know where he was.

And it all started so innocently.

*

Last year’s summer was incredibly hot. Stifling heat was coming down from the impeccably blue sky during the days, and the nights were steamy as in tropics. Harry was not concerned by his headaches and dizziness that happened every now and then, he explained that to Louis and to himself with the heat and tiredness – he was working on a new, very important project. Louis insisted he should go and visit a doctor, but Harry downplayed the whole situation. Only when one day the younger boy fainted and almost fell down the stairs if Louis wasn’t there to catch him, he decided to run some tests. The diagnosis swept them both of their feet.

Brain tumor, impossible to remove.

Louis screamed and cried in the doctor’s office; Harry on the other hand sat still - numb, like he was not aware of what’s happening.

The surgery was not an option; Harry would not survive it. Intense chemo- and radiotherapy were destroying the boy’s body and were unsuccessful. He was dying.

Louis was with him all the time. Leaving all his projects behind, his whole attention was focused on his beloved Harry. For almost half a year hospitals became their home. When he was next to Harry he tried to be strong, only when he was all alone he let himself to cry; he threw everything he could reach and cursed the whole world.

Why? Why for God’s sake?! Not Harry! He was so young, had the whole life ahead of him, bright future, happiness. Louis couldn’t bear the thought that every day he was losing the person he loved the most. That those beautiful shining eyes were fading away. He couldn’t believe he would never hear Harry’s laugh again, would never kiss his lips, would never hug him again.

Harry begged him. For what? For Louis to leave that skinny, hairless wreck of a person that once was Harry Styles. For him to forget that he had ever existed. He kept saying that it would make it easier for him to die. He wouldn’t have to look into that swollen, full of tears eyes, hear how Louis tried to comfort him, not believing himself in any word he said. And Louis then cried and called him an idiot and promised, swore. And he didn’t leave even when Harry didn’t recognize him, was unconscious or was throwing up after another dose of chemo. He loved like never before. And he couldn’t imagine leaving Harry in his last moments, couldn’t imagine not holding his hand.

He swore.

*

There were moments when Harry was better. The doctors let him go home then. And during one of those stays at home Louis made a decision.

*

One morning, while checking on Harry in his room, Louis couldn’t find him in his bed. He started calling out for him, looking for him in the whole house, getting more nervous with every minute without the boy. Finally he ran out of the house and froze.

Harry stood there on the grass wearing only his pajamas; amongst the fog. The light grey veil surrounded him, causing his silhouette to look blurry, fuzzy. Cold sweat ran down Louis’s neck.

No… it’s just a fog. He’s an _adult_ for fuck’s sake.

“Harry!” he yelled.

The younger boy slowly turned around, exactly in the moment when Louis reached him.

“Fog…” he said quietly. “Do you remember?”

Louis couldn’t say a word. He just nodded. _Of course_ he remembered.

“When my grandpa was dying, there was fog all around as well.” Harry looked deliriously into Louis’ eyes. “Do you think…?”

“No!” The older man knew what Harry wanted to say, but he didn’t intend to let him finish that sentence. He squeezed his scrawny arms instead. “That was just our imagination, Harry. _Your_ childish imagination… It’s not true.”

“But it _will_ be true one day,” whispered Harry, “very soon for me.”

“So it will for me,” replied Louis, not realizing the meaning of his words. He looked into Harry’s eyes for a long time and then kissed his pale lips. “We’ll walk through the fog together.”

*

Days passed by and Louis continued to believe that the decision he made was right. He wanted to _leave_ with Harry. There was no one else worth living for.

He couldn’t stand Harry’s agony. He wasn’t afraid of death, he was only afraid that one day Harry’s eyes wouldn’t open again or that he would leave this world unconscious, not recognizing him – Louis. Death in a sleep would be a relief for Harry, but Louis couldn’t imagine watching slow agony of a person who meant _everything_ to him. His heart would break. He wanted to shorten the pain for both Harry and himself.

*

The fog gets dimmer. It looks like it’s another layers are falling down on earth. Louis looks out of the window.

Maybe Harry was right? Maybe fog is a sign of death…

His gaze falls on the two mugs.

_Sweet Dream Potion._

He wants to fall asleep next to Harry. He wants to kiss him goodnight and wish him lovely dreams. And then he wants to drown in the fog and hold Harry’s hand and walk with him, hand in hand, without any fears and without looking back, until they reach the other side. And everything will be alright out there, there’s no pain, no fear – they will finally find a relief and they will be together. Harry will laugh again, will run and sing, there will be glow in his eyes. Out there, on the other side of the fog, there will be happiness and light. And Louis will sit on the porch and will watch him and then he will call him over and they will drink the warm tea from their favorite mugs – red and blue. Everything exactly as it is in here – their home and garden, their mugs and chocolate cookies, but the life will be different – without any concerns and sadness.

Just a few sips, that’s all it takes.

Louis takes the red and blue mugs in his hands. The fog falls over the garden.

Louis’ grandma used to say that death is only a moment and then – then there’s the whole eternity. And that one should not be afraid of death. Not their own, because the lives of those who are left behind are much worse than the lives of the ones who are leaving. There are no longer needed clothes in the wardrobes, old photographs and the emptiness.

Louis knows that no one will ever be able to fill the void in his life. No one can ever take Harry’s place in his heart. 

*

The house is filled with cruel, drilling into the scull silence. Louis’ every step is unnaturally loud, even though the boy tries to take each step with exaggerated carefulness. He knows he has to wake Harry up anyway, but it feels like being loud right now is simply inappropriate. He’s never been religious, but toying with the final moment is a blasphemy, even for him; disrespectful for both Harry and him.

His hands holding the two mugs tremble slightly, the mixture inside sloshes quietly. Louis is careful not to spill even a drop.

Every step taken gets him closer to the unavoidable; each step is a step towards _the end_. And with every step the fear gets bigger and the eyes are filled with more tears.

He can still back out, pour the poison out and wash the mugs ten times so there is not a trace of the deadly mixture left in them, or smash them and throw away – just to make sure. But by doing that he would condemn Harry to a certain death and himself to an unimaginable suffering.

He wants to fall asleep.

*

Harry sleeps. Or maybe he just lies with his eyes closed, waiting for his boyfriend to stand in the doorframe with two mugs filled with the poison in his hands. He knows that Louis prepares the substance in those particular vessels; important, more valuable than any Chinese porcelain teacups.

He waits. He is ready. Louis took care of all the details, even small things like changing his beddings or helping him put on new pajamas. There are Harry’s favorite Freesias in the vase on the table.

And outside the window the blood red sun blasts through the fog. But that is something Harry cannot see – the bed stands with its back towards the window and the boy is too weak to stand up. It is the time.

*

Louis sits down on the side of Harry’s bed; only then the younger boy opens his eyes. It seems that even an action as simple causes him pain. Yet, somehow he still smiles slightly at the sight of Louis.

“Lou…”

The brown haired man delicately strokes his hand.

Once those hands were beautiful, always adorned with stylish rings and now they are so scrawny that one could see every single vein under the thin skin, marked with scars from needles and IV. Yet for Louis those are the most beautiful hands, hands that caressed his body not so long ago bringing incredible pleasure. And that’s the way he wants to remember them.

They don’t speak for a few moments. Louis only holds Harry’s hand and Harry looks at him sadly.

“Lou…” he finally says, quietly. “You don’t have to do that. You can…”

“We’ve talked about it,” Louis doesn’t let him finish. The decision has been made and Louis doesn’t intend on changing it. Or maybe he is just afraid that he may give in? That he will lose the determination that has been keeping him stuck to that terrifying plan? He doesn’t want to talk about it. “I want to be with you. I promised.”

Harry closes his eyes; one tear slides down his pale cheek. Louis wipes it away delicately.

“You don’t have to worry about a single thing, I’ll always be here,” whispers Louis. “Always.”

“You’ve always cared for me, Lou, and now…” Harry’s voice breaks a bit and the teary eyes stare at Louis. “This is not right and it doesn’t have to be this way. I-I can do this and you… You should live…”

“Without you?” Louis can’t stop his own tears from falling even though he promised himself not to cry. “Do you think I could? Alone?”

 “You have the whole life, Louis…” he tries one last time. “Please, Lou… Just live and I’ll… I’ll wait for you. I’ll look out for you every day. But you will live, long long years, and I’ll wait for you all those years and only one evening… One evening when the fog falls you will come…”

Louis’ heart almost breaks at Harry’s words. But there’s this vision in his head: a house surrounded by a big garden, copy of their own house in the suburbs of London, with a long path leading to it. And Harry standing at the end of the path, smiling, with his hair messy from the wind, reaching out with his hand for Louis. In many, many years.

But he doesn’t want to wait.

“No.” Louis puts small kisses on Harry’s hands, wetting them with the tears at the same time. “We won’t wait. Wherever we go, we go together. Don’t you remember? Together, only the two of us. You’re the only person in the whole world I care about, Harry, nothing will tear us apart. People couldn’t, your sickness couldn’t and the death _won’t_ either.”

Harry sighs deeply, but there is a relief hidden in that sigh.

 _His_ Louis, always with him. Could he imagine a better ending for himself? It doesn’t matter that he’s dying so young, destroyed by the disease, so different from _the Harry Styles_ that was once loved by thousands of teenagers. What’s important is that Louis is right next to him. He will fall asleep peacefully and he will go towards a better life in a better reality. Somewhere where there is no pain and fear. Where there is only love. And Louis. And that’s enough.

They’ve prepared everything, tied up all the loose ends. They’ve made their wills. The most of their material belongings was supposed to go to Lou – a single mother of seven years old baby girl. The house, half of the shares in Harry’s and Louis’ record company and all the money deposed in different banks across England and The United States. A modest woman barely managing to make ends meet and struggling with being a single mom was becoming a millionaire.

Harry and Louis don’t need any of that anymore. For the younger man even the IV giving his exhausted body necessary nutrition is no longer needed. The line can be removed now.

“It won’t hurt, right, Lou?” asks Harry looking into Louis’ eyes. He’s been through so much pain.

“No, it won’t” Louis gently strokes his hair; black hair of a wig that Harry wanted to wear on _this_ day. “It won’t hurt, you’ll just fall asleep.”

Another wave of great remorse and fearful sadness crashes down at the older boy’s heart. In a few minutes he will give the poison to his boyfriend. He will hold the red mug to the lips that he kissed so many times, and he will pour the deadly drink into Harry’s mouth. He will kill him. Fully aware, he will kill the only person he loves more than anything.

It’s for him, he told himself, so he doesn’t have to suffer anymore. It will happen anyway. I’m just helping him.

Repeated now and hundred times before excuses don’t make the guilt more bearable.

Murder is a murder, doesn’t matter what the motives are.

God, forgive me.

Harry is calm. He looks at Louis with trust in his sad, tired eyes. It’s nothing. They’ll be apart only for a moment and then they will be together again, it doesn’t matter on which side. What’s important is that they’ll be _together_. He takes Louis’ hand into his and slightly nods. He’s ready.

Louis looks up to the ceiling trying to stop a new wave of tears from falling. He has to be strong, now is not the time to cry.

“Don’t be afraid, Lou,” says Harry quietly, “you said yourself that it won’t hurt. I trust you.”

He’s always trusted; even when Louis ran away from their love. He believed in him, completely. Until the very end.

Louis’ hand clenched on the red mug trembles extremely. Harry tries to sit up a bit, but he’s too weak. The older boy has to help him so he can touch the red mug with his lips. Louis tilts it slightly and the first drops reach Harry’s mouth.

They are alone. The house is filled with a terrible silence. With its scary accompaniment Harry Styles swallows first sips of the poison. It tastes nice – faint, but unmistakable taste of dry wine.

“Some more, Harry…” says Louis through the tears when Harry chokes on the drink. “Just a little bit more… You won’t feel any pain soon, Haz… Everything will be alright…”

Louis expected the poison to work immediately, but no – after drinking his dose the younger boy looks the same as before, no sign of the mixture’s effect.

Harry closes his eyes, putting his head back on the pillow with Louis’ help. Louis then kisses his lips, like he wants to drink the last drops of the potion out of them.

“My Harry…”

The black-haired boy smiles gently, as if he thinks back to something beautiful. 

“My Harry…” he repeats. “You called me that after our first time.”

“And many times after that.” Louis grabs the blue mug. “And I’ll always call you that.”

Not giving it a second thought he tilts the blue vessel, quickly drinking his dose of the deadly drink. Now, when the poison runs in Harry’s veins, he doesn’t hesitate.

The younger boy opens his eyes and his hand reaches out as if he wants to knock the blue mug out of Louis’ hand, but it’s too late – the liquid runs down Louis’ body. And along with it there’s an amazing relief. Suddenly all the concerns, fears and doubts are gone. Everything is clear now… and beautiful. He feels free, as if those few sips broke the restrains forged with fear, remorse and guilt. Peaceful smile is back on his face.

He looks into Harry’s eyes; into those wonderful, green eyes that he loves so much. He sees love and gratitude in them.

Harry finds Louis’s hand and takes it into his. Their fingers intertwine

“Lou…” whispers the younger boy, “don’t call me back, please…”

*

Harry was always, in some way, fascinated with fog, and since his and Louis’ vision of death, the obsession got only bigger. One extremely foggy September morning, when he was eleven, he decided to let it go.

He went out to the meadow spread behind the house, losing the white building out of his sight with every second passing. The fog seemed to push at him from everywhere getting dimmer, but the boy didn’t give up – he went forward. He wanted to find himself on the other side, to see how it is out there and then go back. He knew the way! He would go back on his own trails. At some point he turned back to check if he wasn’t too far off the path and… he realized he couldn’t see the house anymore. He was standing in the sea of the fog. The white smudges covered him like a tight cocoon. He was scared.

I don’t wanna die! The terrifying thought came to his childish mind. I wanna go back home! I want to see Louis!

It was Louis who he cared about the most. He didn’t want to leave him, that would be unbearable.

Louis, help me!

“Harry!” There was a voice coming from somewhere afar. That longed-for voice with a noticeable dash of fear. “Harry, where are you?”

“Here!” he shouted.

“Here? Where?!”

“Here… In the fog!” He was desperately looking all around himself, trying to find something that could make finding him easier. But all he could see was whiteness. “Louis!”

He was trembling with cold and fear. He just wanted to go back, but what if the gate was closed now? What if Louis’ voice was coming from the other side? What if he wouldn’t see him again?

“Louis!”

Something moved in the white mass and finally materialized in the form of a person – a boy with brown hair. Right after, Harry stood face to face with Louis.

“Louis…”

“Harry, what are you doing?” Louis could barely catch his breath. “Why are you out there in this weather?”

“I… I just wanted to see… the other side…” Harry was still trembling and couldn’t properly speak.

“For God’s sake, what are you talking about? Whatever… You’re shaking, here, have my hoodie, you fool. And come home, your mum made cocoa for breakfast.”

And they went back home, together. They went back on that “good” side of the fog.

Only many years later did Harry find the courage to tell Louis about his terrifying images from that day. And he was firmly convinced that Louis got him back from the path to the “afterlife”. That he pulled him out of death.

*

“I won’t” Louis squeezes Harry’s hand. “Go… and wait for me.”

Harry is embraced by pleasant warmth. His body is getting heavier and at the same time it seems like it’s floating somewhere in the space. The room starts to blur in front of his eyes, starts to sink in the fog.

“Lou?”

“I’m here.”

“I love you, Lou.”

“I love you, too, more than anything.”

He kisses him. For the last time he gives Harry’s sweet lips a gentle kiss.

Harry’s body flinches several times and a long breath leaves his lungs; peaceful, full of relief. On the scrawny pale cheek there is one tear left, now rolling down and leaving a wet trail on the paper-thin skin. It finally stops.

“Sleep, baby…” says Louis quietly. “Sleep tight, my baby…”

*

Harry hears a whisper; tender, beautiful, gradually quieter.

He takes one step forward and notices the fog that starts to float around his feet. The voice grows silent and there’s more and more white fumes – they reach up to his knees now, slowly getting to his thighs and hips. He is not afraid, he walks forward not seeing the ground. Maybe he’s just floating, tucked in under a blanket of fog.  The world fades away, exactly as all those years ago in the meadow in Holmes Chapel. But this time there is no fear in him. No doubt. There is only a certainty that it’s good and that out there – on the other side – everything will be better.

It’s getting lighter, as if right behind the white veils there is a powerful light. It is getting closer, dispersing the fog and at some point it just explodes, blinding with its light.

Harry goes forward and there are pictures sliding all around him; the scenes from his life. His twenty four years of earth existence shown on movie frames.

Louis and him, ten years old, sitting under the forsythia in Styles’ garden, near Bingo’s grave. Their first live performance on the X Factor and only a few people cheering for them, their moms among them.

Huge happiness when “What Makes You Beautiful” peaked at number 1 on the UK Singles Chart. Louis hugging him tight.

Stormy, terrible night and their first kiss.

Their first time and huge fear in the eyes and trembling hands. And the bodies thirsty for each other.

Him, wet and cold, standing in the door of the summer house where Louis was hiding from the whole world when their secret was exposed. And then him again, sleeping peacefully in Louis arms.

Huge fight with the rest of the boys.

New home, new hope. Louis not leaving his side.

First Christmas together. Shining Christmas tree and loads of presents underneath.

Happiness during graduation. Pride in Louis’ eyes.

Lou and her baby girl. And her delight when she got a beautiful dollhouse from “Uncle Harry”.

Doctor’s office and the diagnosis: brain tumor. Louis’ desperate scream.

The red and blue mugs on the bedside table, right next to the bouquet of Freesia. And looking so innocent poison in the mugs.

So many images from his colorful and confusing life. Happiness and sadness. Harry smiling, crying, confused, disappointed, worried, angry… The whole spectrum of life. He goes straight forward, calmly, confidently.

The images are gone. Instead of them there is another explosion of the blinding light, hitting straight in the eyes. Wind blowing in the face, messing up the hair. And the new world.

*

Louis sees a small smile on Harry’s lips. Maybe that is only his imagination, but it makes him calm. Wherever Harry is now, he’s happy.

Louis’ undamaged by the disease body fights the poison longer, but eventually it gives up.

He lays his head right next to Harry’s face, not letting his hand go. He kisses Harry’s cheek for the last time, closing his eyes. He feels happy and safe.

He knows that Harry is waiting for him. That he will welcome Louis with his lovely smile and his eyes will shine with joy.

The fog starts to float around his feet.

*

The path is long, but he goes straight ahead. A rising sun stings his eyes, but he doesn’t close them. He can feel warm wind on his skin, like a sign of upcoming summer, some new beginning and new hope. The air smells nice, maybe even with Freesias. Everything bad is left behind, doesn’t matter anymore.

He sees him. Harry looks as if he is seventeen or eighteen again. The black hair disheveled from the wind. He stands on the path and smiles.

They meet again, look into each other’s eyes, touch each other’s hands.

 Harry’s smile gets even bigger.

“Welcome home, Lou.”

 

 

 


End file.
